


In a Tree

by Illegible_Scribble



Series: 31 Days of Frodo/Sam, 2018 [25]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, Kisses, M/M, Pre-Quest, Smoochtober 2018, cat shenanigans, silly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 13:09:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16409129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illegible_Scribble/pseuds/Illegible_Scribble
Summary: Following the rescue of a local cat from Bag End's tree, Sam attempts an acrobatic feat, while Frodo and their feline third wheel watch on, each feeling various levels of concern and enthusiasm.





	In a Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this prompt](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/132744) for Smoochtober 2018, #25: Spiderman Kiss.

“I find it fascinating he can weasel himself into a box half his size, and he can't climb down from a tree.”

Frodo and Sam were looking up to the branches of the oak tree that had been growing on the crown of the Hill as far back as anyone could remember, the former with his hands on his hips, and the latter scratching his head, puzzled. They were looking up at one of the resident feline wanderers of Hobbiton (it would be inappropriate to call them 'homeless', as the entire town belonged to them, and they knew it well); a grey tabby tom, named Post Script. For the past ten minutes he'd been howling incessantly up in the tree, rather disturbing tea for Frodo and Sam. He looked down at them mournfully, blinking his big green eyes in entreatment for someone to scrabble up and save him.

“It does serve you right, you know,” Frodo told him, now crossing his arms, “you do realize this isn't the first time this has happened, hm?” if cats could cry, P.S. likely would've been. “Someday, we'll be out of the smial, and won't be here to get you out of your own trouble.”

“Maybe he likes the attention?” Sam suggested, forming the uneasy realization he was, indeed, going to have to go up after the cat. P.S. meowed at him sorrowfully.

“I think he's also bloody stupid,” said Frodo, annoyed, but still with a note of bitter endearment in his voice, “he could just come up to the window purring, and he'd get an abundance of attention that way! Why, has he ever thought of what would happen if we simply left him up there?”

P.S.'s subsequent, sad, “Mrrowr?” told them well he knew they would never leave him up there. He was too adorable, and their hearts too big. Trick or no, they'd fall for it every time.

“I'll help you with the ladder,” Frodo sighed at last, as he and Sam turned to one another, shrugging helplessly. It is widely purported in the modern day that cats have only domesticated humans to such subservience, but it should be noted also that they'd long since accomplished the same thing in hobbits: hook, line and sinker.

As the two made their way down to the garden shed, P.S. settled himself in such a way that he looked freshly popped from a meatloaf pan, and began to purr.

He only rose again to grip his branch and meow with distress when he spotted Sam and Frodo returning again, waving his tail desperately for them to come save his helpless self. Sam set his jaw suspiciously as they approached and leaned the ladder against the trunk, relatively certain he and Frodo were both being played. Frodo's annoyed glare conveyed _absolute_ certainty they were being played, but even still he had an enormous soft spot for cats, and they would not leave P.S. to starve from lack of food or petting.

P.S. Cried out joyfully as Sam ascended the ladder while Frodo held it steady, and only fussed a little as Sam scooped him up, and carried him partway down, to hand back to Frodo. P.S. He was particularly pleased Frodo was wearing a white shirt today, and began avidly rubbing his grey head all over Frodo's sleeves.

“Brat cat,” Frodo mumbled into his fur, “utter nuisance.” _But you love me still!_ P.S. thought, purring like a thunderstorm. Rubbing against Frodo's face, he could feel the curve of a smile there.

“You're not stuck too, are you, Sam?” Frodo asked, as Sam had clambered to the top of the ladder again, and stopped, considering something. “I'm afraid I don't want to get _you_ down, next.”

“Nay, not exactly,” Sam replied, eyeing a branch just below the one P.S. had been retrieved from, “t'is, only- well.”

“Well what?” Frodo asked, tilting his head as P.S. did in curiosity, wondering at Sam's blush.

“You remember all the tree-climbing I used to do with me brothers and sisters?”

Frodo nodded slowly. “Yeees...?”

“Well, there were sommat me brothers could do easy as pie, iffin you remember, but I never quite got the... well, hang of it, is fair.”

“And you're wanting to try it now?”

Sam looked sheepishly down at Frodo and Post Script, the former looking curiously skeptical, the latter looking eager and expectant. “Yes, well- now being much bigger – and mayhap stronger – than afore... I'm wanting to try it, for old time's sake. Just once- ehm, bragging rights, you know.”

Frodo shrugged. First the cat stuck in the tree, now likely his lover. He supposed 'one of those days' had been overdue recently, and this particular one would be especially unorthodox to compensate for it. “Very well, then. As you like, Master Samwise. I'll kiss you better as needed, but I shan't try to catch you.” With relatively firm assurance, Sam began to clamber out to the middle of his chosen branch. “Nor will I drag out a mattress to catch you instead.”

“Thank'ee, Frodo,” Sam replied, “you is awful fine at confidence-boosting, like.”

As silly as Frodo thought the whole circumstance, he still followed along as Sam settled more or less where P.S. had been before on the branch above, initially straddling it, before very carefully pulling over one leg, and sitting on it as he might a bench. “Are you about to try what I think you are?” asked Frodo. What P.S. meowed subsequently was more difficult to interpret, but to Sam it felt an inspiring cheer.

“Likely, aye.” replied Sam. “Don't go standing underneath, in case... You know.”

Frodo dutifully took a step backwards, as Sam very slowly began to lean back, the hook he'd made of his knees slowly rotating with him. Frodo found himself holding to P.S. more tightly as the seconds ticked by, anxious that he'd have to go running to town for a doctor, in case Sam did fall. He thought all of this was utterly silly and childish (though also that everyone had a right to be childish at times), but he remembered as well years past, in Sam's youth, when keeping up with his older brothers had meant the world to him. Even May had managed this without hurting herself, and in the end it made a passable amount of sense that Sam – once and for all – would like to see if he could, too.

To the surprise of everyone – except perhaps Post Script, who knew the key of getting oneself into trouble in high places was sheer confidence – Sam did not fall. In fact, to his delight, he hung perfectly, suspended upside down from the branch by his knees. “I- I done did it!” he breathed.

Frodo was amused and delighted, and pleasantly surprised nothing had gone as wrong as he feared. “Congratulations, Sam! Not something May or your brothers can hold over you anymore.”

Slowly, fearing the slightest movement might upset his balance, Sam laced his fingers behind his head, going so far as to look smug. “Nay! T'ain't much, of course, but done – and done well – all the same!”

Frodo took a few careful steps forward, an eyebrow raised and a smile playing on his lips. He realized Sam's head was now at approximate equal height to his own. “Would the master of acrobatics care for a kiss to celebrate his victory?”

He wasn't certain if the red of Sam's face was from a blush, or the blood that must be rushing to his head, but nevertheless Sam nodded, as he could. “A-aye, that would be fine.”

Frodo drew appropriately close, smiling with mirth at Sam's predicament, and wondering how exactly this would work. They could both try tilting their heads enough to make it somewhat sideways, or... he giggled, considering they could make do with the upside down circumstances. He realized, making his choice, it was immensely strange to look at the collar of Sam's shirt while kissing him, and have his nose touch Sam's chin, but... as strange as it was, it was still a kiss.

They tilted their heads minutely and carefully as they explored what angles they could, the touch gentle throughout for they could hardly stop laughing. Frodo ruffled Sam's hair playfully as they parted, eyes gleaming as he said, “You and Post Script both are incredibly silly,” P.S. meowed in indignance, “but I still love you.”

“Mighty reassuring, that.” said Sam, smiling cheekily.

Subsequently, Frodo stepped back appropriately as Sam managed to sit back up, and resettle safely on the branch, before shakily making his way back down to solid earth. “As impressive as that was,” said Frodo, when Sam had recollected his breath, “I do hope you won't try it again.”

Sam shook his head. “Nay, I don't think so. One ninnyhammer stuck up in a tree is enough for me.” P.S. forgave his thoughtless remark as Sam rubbed his cheeks, and the trio made their way back to tea. Subsequent upside down kisses Sam and Frodo shared, were generally kept to the formula of one of them lying down on a soft surface, and the other leaning over the opposite side. Less exciting, perhaps, but certainly less concerning for it.


End file.
